


When All The Past Still Haunts You

by red_crate



Series: Gift Fics [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bittersweet, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 13:14:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13077636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: “How did you find me?” It's a relief for a moment to look away from the house.Peter's skin is so warm it’s almost painful against Stiles's half numb fingers.





	When All The Past Still Haunts You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Twisted_Mind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/gifts).



> Written for the wonderful Twisted_Mind as a holiday gift. She wanted _the boys dealing with loss around the holidays. H/C type tone preferred._  
>  I hope you enjoy, babe. <3
> 
> My love to CinnamonLily for the quick read-through.

His shoes crunch through the half inch of snow that is more ice than anything as he slowly makes his way up the road. Despite the sleet they got this morning, cars slowly pass by him. There are no other pedestrians out though. When he comes to the first house on the circuit, he stops. 

Stiles is wearing his usual layers of t-shirt, flannel, and hoodie. His fingers and nose feel a little numb where they're exposed to the cold, but he hadn't made the conscious decision to come out here tonight so he'd left his gloves and jacket in his closet.

It prickles.

He stands there in front of a two story house with eight plastic light up reindeer on the roof and red and white candy canes lining the pathway leading to the front porch where a real Christmas tree is set up and decorated with multicolored strings of lights.

He doesn't know how long he stands there, probably looking creepy as he stares, unmoving. Stiles’s mind is a swirl of emotion as he tries to sift through the good memories so he can skirt around the ones that sting.

A too-warm hand slides into one of his where it hangs by his side. Stiles is snapped out of his tunnel vision, flinching for a moment at the unexpected contact. His other hand curls into a fist, but he catches himself when he sees who it is.

Some time ago, Stiles wouldn't have bothered checking the punch.

“How did you find me?” It's a relief for a moment to look away from the house.

Peter's skin is so warm it’s almost painful against Stiles's half numb fingers.

For once, Peter isn't quick to speak even with the invitation. He holds Stiles's gaze, holds his hand, and sighs almost silently.

Stiles looks away first, chest tight, and curls his fingers round Peter's.

The words pour out of him, at first, against his will. But once they start, he realizes it’s less painful than he expected, maybe even helps. If anyone would understand, he thinks Peter would.

“We used to walk up and down the neighborhood on Christmas Eve every year. My mom bought me a new jacket for it, even if it was only like fifty degrees out instead of freezing. Dad made us a thermos of hot chocolate to share along the way.”

Stiles's throat closes up involuntarily for a second. His eyes are dry, but he can feel the sting of tears where they threaten to brim. Now that he's started, he can't stop.

“After she died, that first Christmas, Dad was working all the time. When he wasn't working, he was drowning his sorrow at the bottom of a bottle. I spent most of my time with the McCalls. He crawled out long enough to sober up on Christmas Eve, but it wasn't the same. He forgot the hot chocolate, and it was raining so we had to drive.” Stiles shakes his head. “I spent the whole trip in the backseat crying silently so Dad wouldn't hear me, because I knew he was  _ trying _ , but it was all wrong.”

His words die out for a long while. The muffled sound of Christmas music emitting from slowly passing cars echo tinny through the night. It's like being transported back, watching himself through a mirror as he curled in on his knees and muffled his cries against his exposed wrist. It was the same jacket from the year before.

The year after that was better and worse in a different way, but each successive year hurt a little less. He and Dad only made it back here to walk through the lights one time.

“When I was thirteen, we came back. New jacket and thermos full of hot chocolate.” The tears burn against his eyes but still don't fall. “But it wasn't with Mom, you know? It didn't feel right. Dad eventually lead us back out before we circled through the whole thing. We ate at a Chinese restaurant after, I think.” He nods to himself realizing, “That's how the tradition of Chinese food on Christmas Eve started for us.

“We couldn't recreate the old tradition, but we made a new one.” Stiles chews on his bottom lip. The threat of tears has already receded.

Sometimes he wonders if it would be easier if he just cried.

“Why now?” Peter asks quietly.

Stiles shrugs. “I don't really know. I just started walking and ended up here. The holidays do fucked up shit to you, right? I guess… I wanted to see what it would be like. Alone.”

The heat radiating off Peter intensifies as he steps closer to Stiles and lets go of his hand in order to wrap an arm around Stiles's shoulders.

The tenderness in Peter's voice with what he says next is like a punch to the gut. “I found you.” They're soft, reassuring, and promising in a way that Stiles wouldn't have always believed Peter could be capable of.

Closing his eyes and turning into Peter's chest, Stiles nods his head. He can't speak, too choked up to do more than shudder through one breath, then another. Peter's hands rub his back until Stiles own hands reach up to curve around the back of Peter's neck.

They're the same height, but Peter is wider and older. He feels like a buffer against Stiles's own mind right now. It makes him realize just how often Peter seems to be there for him when no one else can reach him. It's in Peter's sarcasm, his misdirection, his simple touch, and, occasionally, in his earnestness.

Stiles realizes as he looks into Peter's blue eyes, that this is what he wants. His heart trips on itself and his voice shakes. “You found me.”

Peter cocks his head to the side and cups Stiles's cheek with one hand. “You let me.”

The kiss is lingering, sweet at first then deep. 

Peter takes him home.

**Author's Note:**

> [Come hang out with me on Tumblr](http://the-redcrate.tumblr.com)


End file.
